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<title>The By-Road To Glenroe - Part 1 by TheIskra</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29318349">The By-Road To Glenroe - Part 1</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIskra/pseuds/TheIskra'>TheIskra</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gareth Mallory Character Studies [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>James Bond (Craig movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 09:41:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>558</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29318349</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIskra/pseuds/TheIskra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Gareth Mallory's captivity in 1995. Meant as the first chapter in a series but we'll see how far I get.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gareth Mallory Character Studies [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1900219</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The By-Road To Glenroe - Part 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The darkness strikes him first, then the cold. The harsh scratch of the burlap sack against his neck, his shoulders that would itch if he wasn’t in so much pain.</p><p>
  <em>Now think. I was at the base, then to the chip shop… then nothing. This. </em>
</p><p>He tilts his head to the side and a bolt of pain sends a shudder down his spine. He tries to reach up but can’t feel his hands for a moment. The back of his biceps pressed tightly against the chair.</p><p>
  <em> OODA, Gareth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Observe </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Orient </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Decide </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Act </em>
</p><p>
  <em>OODA.</em>
</p><p>His fingers touch, dirty and cold, wrists bound. Trying to not move unnecessarily, he turns his wrists. Zip ties.</p><p>
  <em>Well shit.</em>
</p><p>There is far less give with these than rope or handcuffs. The steel or metal chair he’s tied to is cold where his skin isn’t touching. Wiggling his toes, another sharp pain shoots up his foot, his ankle and to his leg. Biting his lip, he lifts his toes… his feet are bare, ankles also constrained. He can feel the edge of his trousers against his ankles and realizes he isn’t wearing a shirt. The floor is concrete, there is a no breeze against his exposed skin. He’s cold but stops his mind from thinking too much about it. His breath tastes like metal. Running his tongue over his teeth, he almost screams. <em>Bastards broke my jaw. </em></p><p><em>Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one</em>.</p><p>He closes his eyes and focuses on his inhale. Even a slight bit more than a normal breathing pattern causes pain in his chest.</p><p>There’s a sharp sound, metal dragging on cement and he doesn’t move. There are two voices, both male and both Irish.</p><p>“Royal pet, Gareth Mallory,” he hears a rough voice say. “Queen’s cunt here to convert us all are you? Here’s what I think of your queen.”</p><p>There’s warm wetness and he realizes quickly he’s being urinated on. It hits his chest, then the sack on his head, thankfully blocking them from pissing on his face.</p><p>
  <em>Steady. Steady.</em>
</p><p>“Look at him, even tied up, he looks like he’s got a ram rodded up his arse. He must like being pissed on,” another voice says. “Maybe you should bugger ‘im. Nothing these twats love more than being fucked in the name of their queen.”</p><p>“Bloody martyrs,” a third voice says. “wait until he’s hungry. Then he’ll tell us what we want to know.”</p><p>The fluid on his chest has chilled and now wet his trousers and he’s properly cold. He wills himself to not shiver, not react at all. “Fucking cunt,” he hears before everything goes black again.</p><p>When he comes back to his body, his orientation is fucked. There’s a warm hand on his chest, then a voice next to his ear.</p><p>“Gareth,” he hears. The voice is English and soft. He realizes the sack isn’t on his head any longer but he can barely manage to open his eyes. His vision is blurred, his head aching, dried blood or tears or both keeping his eyes blissfully closed. “Can you open your mouth?”</p><p>
  <em>This is a trap.</em>
</p><p>“Gareth, it’s for the pain. I’ve not much time before they come back. Open your mouth.” He shakes his head as much as he’s able to before the pain overwhelms him again and he passes out.</p>
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